


Stole Mine (Steal Yours)

by abriata



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abriata/pseuds/abriata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam kidnaps Kris from the bar where he works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stole Mine (Steal Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be for another kinkmeme prompt, but it turned out to basically not fit the prompt. It contains no plot, no sex, too much fluff/sap, far too few words for what I was trying to accomplish, and the shallowest characters I've ever written, so YMMV.

"This is kidnapping, you know," says Kris.

"Yeah." Adam holds out a bag of chips. "Want some?"

"No, thank you." Kris waves it away; for some reason this makes Adam smile at him. "Seriously, though, I'm pretty sure this is illegal."

Adam shrugs and leans forward to prop his elbows on the table. "I just brought you onto my bus. It's like inviting you into my home."

"Really? I think it's more like you dragged me bodily onto your bus and then told you driver to take off." He sounds calm, and he's pretty proud of himself for it. "So, not an invite and more like locking me in your basement."

"It's a very nice basement, though," Adam points out, and Kris has to agree. He didn't know buses were this nice inside. It's a lot like a camper, but the nice new ones, not the grungy ones from the eighties. He thinks it does say something about Adam, though, that he and his band have two buses: one for him, and one for the rest.

"Maybe it is," he says shiftily, "But it's still kidnapping and illegal and I think you should take me home now." It likely would have been good if he hadn't yawned halfway through, because Adam stands up and says, "Oh, you're tired, come on, you can sleep back here," and pulls him back to an improbably large bed. In his defense, the bed is really soft and the room is really dark and smells kind of like the perfume section of a department store, and it's seven in the morning and he's been up since ten a.m. the day before, so it's excusable if he actually kind of does go to sleep as soon as Adam manhandles him up onto it.

He wakes up when the engine grumbles down. He shoves himself up, wincing. He hadn't meant to sleep – god only knows where he is now. Baton Rouge, it turns out, when he stumbles off the bus. Adam's nowhere in sight but both buses are parked in front of a truckstop that's promoting everything Louisiana. He pats his back pocket, checking he still has his wallet, and sneaks inside to look for a payphone since the ones outside all have signs taped over them proclaiming their uselessness. He left his cell behind the bar when _Hey, can you give the driver directions? He's right outside, I swear_ turned into a hand on his wrist dragging him forward and banging his shins on the stairs.

He's just got his brother's answering machine when Adam pushes the lever down to end the call. Kris takes a deep breath to tell Adam that's enough, Christ, but Adam grabs his wrist and says, "They have the best shirts, look!" and hauls him to the corner of the store. What Kris guesses is Adam's entire band is standing there, admiring some truly horrendous clothes. Kris didn't know they _made_ leather that color.

"Hi," he says, for lack of anything better, and the only girl turns her head then snaps, " _Adam_."

"Yeah?" Adam asks, nudging Kris' shoulder with his elbow. "What do you think? They're good, right?"

Kris opens his mouth but the girl says, "You did _not_ steal the bartender."

"Technically," Kris shares, "I think it's kidnapping," and she looks at him pityingly.

"Poor thing. We'll get you home soon," and hey, Kris kind of likes her.

"No, we won't," Adam settles his arm over Kris' shoulders. "We're going to be keeping him."

"I am not a pet you can keep," Kris steps back. "And that is the ugliest shirt I've ever seen."

His dramatic exit, while rewarding him with an impressively injured expression on Adam's face, would have worked better if he had somewhere to storm off to besides Adam's bus. Instead he's left pacing in front of them until one of the guys comes out after him. He would have preferred Adam had come, but Kris can see him through the window, buying the horrible shirt.

The guy says, "We can get you a plane ticket tomorrow, probably."

"Thanks," Kris says, taken aback. He didn't think anyone would be that helpful.

"Yeah." He holds out his hand. "I'm Tommy."

"Kris," he returns, even though they'd technically met last night. Tommy's slouching and looks hungover and a little bit like a slob. Kris likes him immediately.

"If you hurry we can hid you on our bus," he jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

"That'd be great." Kris hesitates. "But—" he glances back to the store.

"Yeah, come on, we always lock Adam out, it'll drive him fucking nuts."

So Kris follows him onto the bus. Turns out they're heading for New Orleans, which Kris could have guessed, what with how Adam told him the next concert was there. Kris doesn't actually hear from him before the buses groan to life and they're back on the highway for another hour. Kris is all geared up for a question and answer session, namely about if Adam's done this before and whether they're afraid Kris will press charges, but Tommy and the other two – "Monte and LP," Tommy mumbles around a mouthful of aspirin and Alka-Seltzer – stumble back to their bunks and crash.

Kris stares out the window and watches New Orleans traffic as one hour becomes two, because whatever moron planned the route had them coming in to the city during rush hour on a Friday night. They pull up in the back of the hotel and the driver sticks his head around the doorway, hollering, "Up and at 'em, guys!" until he sees Kris. "Make sure they're up, yeah? I'm off."

Kris wanders back and stares, wondering which contains Tommy, then figures he might as well go for it. The first curtain shows empty so he moves on; second one's it, thankfully, so he leans down and pokes him in the shoulder. "Wake up." That doesn't work, so Kris shakes him.

Tommy says, "Fuck you," without opening his eyes and rolls over.

"Okay," says Kris, "But I think you have hotel beds about two minutes away."

It's like the magic word, the way all three are suddenly bolting for the door. Kris shrugs and follows less desperately. They go around the front and are corralled by a frazzled blonde lady who Kris would bet anything is management. She gives him a once-over and pushes him into through the doors with the others.

"Kris!" Adam yells from halfway across the lobby, and Kris cringes as about two dozen people glare at him. Adam waves, like there's any possibly Kris doesn't see him sprawled over half the couch. Kris turns around to ignore him.

"Jesus," Tommy snaps, and marches him over.

"I'm sorry they wouldn't let me on their bus," Adam tells Kris, and wow, he actually sounds sincere.

"We didn't let you in because we though he deserved a couple hours away from you," says Tommy. They both prop their feet on the furniture and Kris winces.

"I'm better company than you were," Adam gesture accusingly, "You slept the whole time."

"How do you know that?" Tommy continues over Adam, "And at least none of us spent the drive molesting him."

"Actually," Kris says, because this conversation got away from him somewhere, "Adam hasn't touched me."

"Yet," Tommy mutters darkly, and yelps when Adam kicks him.

"Rooms, guys," the business lady shoves cards into their hands. Kris doesn't get one. "Up at seven, remember."

"Awesome, you're with me." Adam shoves himself onto his feet and drops his arm over Kris' shoulder. Kris steps a little to the side and widens his eyes at Tommy.

"Adam," Tommy offers lazily.

"Yeah," Adam says brightly. "Camila already gave me the no-means-no speech. Thanks, though."

He tugs Kris to the elevator. "Wait," says Kris, "Do you have to be reminded of that often?"

"Not really." Adam shrugs. "They just worry a lot."

"Right," Kris looks back down the hall. "Um, bags?"

"Kris," Adam leans over, like he's sharing a secret. "That's what bellhops are for."

\---

Somehow, Kris gets talked into staying with them for the next week. It had something to do with not waking up when a guy delivered a plane ticket, so Adam got a hold of it first, and then he said, "Hey, come on, stick around a little longer, it's just like an all-expense paid vacation," and Kris was _sleepy_ , okay, and it's not like Adam had been horrible company, or any of the rest of them, so he mumbled something along the lines of agreement and gone back to sleep. He woke up and the ticket was in shreds so he figured it was easier to just wait the week and worry about it then. He walks down with Adam a little before seven to get breakfast and Tommy looks up at him and says, "He got you. Pussy."

"What?" Kris says blankly. Tommy glowers at him and turns to give Camila twenty bucks. Kris raises his eyebrows but doesn't ask.

Adam tries to make Kris come along to their promo stuff that day but Kris doesn't even have to protest before the blonde lady's rolling her eyes and telling Adam no way, and Kris better not even think about it either. Kris waves perfunctorily and goes back upstairs to sleep for a couple of hours.

Thing is, it's New Orleans, so there should be plenty to do. But there isn't much you can do at short notice on a Saturday when you only have a couple hours to devote, so Kris mostly walks around and eats a lot. He heads back to the hotel around four and Adam freaks out on him as soon as he gets in. "Where were you? We have to go ten minutes ago and you were wandering around god knows where in a city none of us has ever been to with no cell phone! What if you'd gotten mugged or something?"

"You sound a bit like my mom," Kris tells him honestly. "And I have no cell phone because it wasn't on me when you hijacked me from the bar."

"Oh," Adam says, and then, "I could buy you a new one?"

\---

The part Kris wasn't expecting was for Adam to be actually _good_. They all are, really, but Adam's so far outside what Kris had been expecting that he doesn't even know what to do with him. It's his excuse for how he'd kind of just stared at Adam for the first twenty minutes after they'd come off stage for the last time, until Adam smiles and drapes himself all across a chair and asks, "What did you think?"

Kris maybe stutters out something about being impressed or just _wow_ , and Adam laughs and grabs the back of his neck and kisses him. Kris doesn't know how to react, but Adam's moving away then, grabbing his wrist and tugging him along through throngs of people and lights and smoke until they're out in the cold night air. Tommy's somewhere behind them, Kris remembers, so he's not all that worried when Adam shoves him into the back of the limo that’s going to take them to a club somewhere. Adam says, "You aren't regretting staying," and it's not a question.

Shaking his head, Kris asks, "Regretting kidnapping me?"

Adam laughs and doesn't answer, rolling down the window and yelling obnoxiously until Tommy tells him to go fuck himself, he can go ahead if he's in such a hurry. They wait anyway.

\---

They leave the city the next day and Kris rides with Adam because the rest of them are all crashing for the nine-hour drive up the east coast. Adam leaves him along for the first couple hours while they nurse their own headaches, but sometime around lunch he sits down in front of Kris like he means serious business. Kris asks, "Yeah?" through a mouthful of chips.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Adam scrunches his face up. "And here."

He's all earnest, holding out a fucking _gift-wrapped_ box, and Kris shoves his plate to the side and takes it cautiously. "What is it? A phone?"

"No," Adam shakes his head, disappointed, "Nobody's been able to get one yet, and that was after I convinced them I was serious you needed one. They couldn't believe you went two days already without."

Kris gets their disbelief. He's seen the way Adam and everyone around him is attached to their mobile devices; their dependency level is frightening. The only reason he's worried about not having his is because his family might be trying to get to him.

"Are you going to open it?" Adam nods at the box, prompting, and Kris shrugs and shakes his head and then opens it anyway, because he pretty much trusts Adam not to try to kill him at this point.

Inside is a t-shirt in glaring neon pink that reads _Ragin' Cajuns_ and underneath, in smaller letters, _Lafayette, Louisiana_. It's one of the shirts from the store that first day. Kris looks up at Adam, wide-eyed.

Adam lifts his shoulder a little. "You hated mine so bad, I thought it'd give you something to remember it by."

Kris stares down at the shirt for a couple moments. Adam's watching him when he looks up and says, "Thanks for not getting me one of the ugly ones. For a memento, I mean."

"Yeah," Adam leans his head on his hands. "I thought I should try to get you to not hate me, since I wanted to keep you and all."

"About that," Kris says slowly, "Why did you?"

"I don't know." He doesn't seem very concerned. "I wanted to, you were cheerful and normal at four in the morning in the smallest bar I've ever been in, and I wanted to take some of that with me. There were no t-shirts around."

Kris closes his eyes and refuses to laugh. Adam doesn't need any more encouragement, he gets enough as it is, Kris is pretty sure. "So you don't do this a lot?"

"No," Adam sounds insulted, and Kris peeks a little. "It's a felony, you know, and if I did it too often I probably wouldn't get someone as happy to go along with it as you."

"Yeah, I'm easy," Kris says, and he means _to please_.

But Adam says, "Are you really? Because that would be amazing," and Kris really can't talk long enough to correct him.

\---

"I think it's Stockholm Syndrome," Kris tells the top of Adam's head.

"Awesome," Adam mumbles against Kris' collarbone. "What is?"

"This," Kris tries to gesture between them and mostly ends up jerking his shoulder. Adam slaps his side and grumbles. "Really," Kris insists.

Adam lifts his head. "It's not Stockholm Syndrome. People who have Stockholm Syndrome never know they do – that's the point."

Kris really isn't sure that's right. "I don't think so. I mean—"

"What do you know?" Adam asks. "You thought you wanted to go home."

"I do," Kris reminds him.

"You're joking." Adam's whining, petulant, but he looks a little worried, too.

"Well, no. I mean, I'd like to see my family again someday," and Adam smiles happily.

"We can do that. Tour ends in a couple of months."

"Is that all?" Kris snorts, but he pets obediently when Adam pushes his head into Kris' hands.


End file.
